missing pieces
seven years of bad luck
staring at me from the
rearview mirror
I was told I could never
look at myself in the same manner
in which I had grown accustom
that there wasn’t a mechanism
to put the pieces back together
—so I learned to get along anyway
as if living in an alternative world
one in which reflections
remain out of focus
only occasionally seen
from within
december two thousand twenty-four
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